Top Ten Posts of 2010

Remember that time I made a huge, honkin’ deal about how I don’t post on weekends? Welp. Here we are.

So guess what. It’s my blog’s second birthday today! (These little blogs grow up so fast, don’t they?)

{Nom, nom, nom}

AND it’s basically the end of the year! Which means it’s time for another one of these.

THE TOP TEN MOST LOOKED-AT POSTS OF 2010!!! A-HEM

10. The Lemon Pledge – I’m glad my suffering wasn’t for naught.
9. A little something in the morning – My Dunkin boyfriend isn’t the only one who likes me!
8. Monsters Inc. – Who doesn’t love a Me Monster?
7. Hunger thoughts – Apparently my starvation was fascinating.
6. Nobody likes you when you’re 23 – Except you guys, of course.
5. Signed, sealed, delivered – Proof blogger swaps are a good idea.
4. Can’t sleep; won’t sleep – Still can’t do this.
3. So young, so naive. – Everyone does this. EVERYONE.
2. What I did on my summer vacation – You can probably guess why this is my favorite post.

AND, the number one most looked at post of the past year IS…

1. Narwhals. Seriously. – ‘Nuf said.

But seriously. I get at least ten random views a DAY from people searching something to do with narwhals in Google. EVERYONE LOVES THEM.

Sorry for all the caps. Nostalgia gets me excited.

So there you have it! I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read this silly thing. It wouldn’t be near as much fun without you all.

To the new year, new beginnings, and narwhals!

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Home again

Well, for the second time in a week and a half, I’m back home in New York. The Iowa trip was pretty successful! I saw everyone (who was in town) that I wanted to see, spent time with the fam, took our engagement pictures (no, I don’t have them yet, so don’t even ask), had a wedding shower (AKA, had an excuse to drink wine and get presents) — the fiance and I even won the newlywed game we played. Though, to be fair, we sort of had an edge since we’ve had the least amount of time to forget everything.

Our party faces.

But, as always, it’s nice to be back. Even though, for the most part, our wedding is basically planned, there are a few things left to do that I’m a little anxious to get started.

Here are my goals for December:

1. Work out. A lot.
2. Get my dress altered (I have an appointment on the 4th).
3. Book our honeymoon.
4. Figure out tasting, cake, and decor with our reception hall.
5. Find a florist for my bouquet.
6. Order the flowers for my maids bouquets.
7. Make boutonnieres and corsages for moms. Oh, and figure out something for flower girls.
8. Have my wedding band made/get the fiance’s ring.

It sounds like a lot listed out, huh? Welp, let’s get started!

Don’t judge me

In two days, I’m going back to Iowa for the first time in over a year. (Cue the pause for emphasis.)

“Going home again” is a curious thing. Sure, Bon Jovi doesn’t have a problem with it, but you’re a liar if you say you don’t give the prodigal so-and-so a more scrutinizing once-over when he or she finally returns.

What I’m saying is, when you haven’t seen someone in over a year, your gonna pay special attention to how they’ve changed.

Have they gotten taller? Fatter? Had a kid? You want to know. It’s the main reason people go to high school reunions. So even though I know all the important people are just looking forward to seeing me, regardless of any changes, I still feel some pressure to impress. (No matter how silly or vain that concern may be.)

I’m sure people who went to college more than 20 minutes from their home felt something similar every summer or holiday break. (Are they going to notice that you’ve gained the freshman 15? Yes. And anyone you ever wronged us going to rejoice.)

I think I’ll be okay. I mean, I’m coming home with a fiance, so that proves someone likes me. And I’m thinner than I was when I moved, so at least there can be no whispering behind my back. And technically, I hadn’t been hired yet the last time I was there, so I guess you could say my stock has risen a bit there…

Like I said, I know it’s vain. And petty. And probably at least partly all in my head.

So I’m vain, petty, and delusional. I just want to be liked!

Discussions on Death

So I went to my first funeral last night. (Not someone I knew personally, but it was Craig‘s grandfather, so still sad.) Also, learned that this fact apparently makes me a freak.

The fiance has apparently been to at least 35 funerals, and his friend James claims to have been to over 50.

I mean, I kind of knew what to expect, thanks to movies and TV, but it was still a little eerie to have what was basically a somber reunion with a dead body on the table where snacks would have gone.

There were a lot of people there, which was nice. And it wasn’t as sad as it could have been because my friend’s grandpa had been very sick for a long time, and it was nice knowing he wasn’t in pain anymore.

After the service, the fiance and I were walking to the car with Craig talking about how uncomfortable it was having the body right there while everyone chatted, and I said I wanted to be cremated.

Then I thought about it and clarified that I wanted to be cremated and scattered where we got engaged, because I was the happiest I can remember being there, plus it’s the prettiest outdoor place I can think of.

The fiance was mildly horrified to be discussing my demise (“Do you realize that would be the saddest trip ever? First I’d have to spend six hours crying on a plane, then cry the whole gondola ride up, then repeat the whole thing going home!”), but if anyone should know these things, I’m pretty sure it’s him.

Phew, sorry for being so morbid. I can’t imagine how I’d be after 40 or 50 of these things.

Just to leave you on a lighter note, two things:

1.) If you haven’t tried the vanilla chai latte at Dunkin Donuts yet, OMG do it NOW.

2.) My Dunkin boyfriend is officially out of control. He actually made one of his employees stop working and come over to the cash register to validate that I was pretty this morning. It went like this:

D-BF: Sandy…Sandy come here.

Sandy: I’m talking to Lisa.

D-BF: Just come here.

Sandy: *Comes over*

D-BF: Look at this. (Apparently meaning me.)

Sandy: *Looks at me* She’s very beautiful.

Me: Oh…um… *blush*…thanks?

Because she said it in this way like, “Yes, ok, I believe you now.”

Which begs the question, am I a topic of discussion and debate when I’m not there?? I had better get something free out of this soon. It’s getting weird.

Last things last

So, I don’t know if the fiance does this (or any other soon-to-be-marrieds), but I’ve started looking at everything as the “last _____ as an unmarried person.”

I already had my last unmarried summer, I’m in my last unmarried fall. We had our last unmarried camping trip. In a few weeks it will be the last time I go to Iowa as an unmarried person.

It’s probably important to clarify that I’m not thinking these things with any kind of sense of foreboding or dread. Quite the contrary, a spend at least part of every day convincing myself that it would be way too mushed out to post a tweet about how crazy excited I am to start calling the fiance the husband. (Or I might get really crazy and use his name. Things will be a bit more official, after all.)

The point is, every time I tick something off the list (last unmarried convention, last unmarried hockey season), I know I’m getting a little closer to a lifetime of firsts.

And that’s a list I’m pretty darn excited to start.

Friendly interaction

Well, once again camping has been a great success. There was hiking, cabins, campfires, and an abundance of food. The only sad part was having to leave a day early to get to work Sunday afternoon. But what can ya do, right?

I realized there are a lot of things I do in life solely for the human interaction. Camping is one. I mean, there are a lot of things about camping that I really enjoy (hiking, campfires, fresh air, etc.), but I would probably never be the one to suggest spending the weekend subject to the elements, lack of bathing, and unhealthy (though delicious) food.

Sports is another thing. As I’ve said before, I like watching games. Hockey and football I can even watch on TV and be entertained. But I am never going to be home alone and flip on the game. And a loss is never going to ruin my day. (Except for the one time my college basketball team got knocked out of Final Four contention in the last two seconds of play…the entire state was rooting for them. It was a dark time.)

The point is, I take part in sports only as far as it’s a social interaction. Again, that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy them, I just might also have ulterior motives.

Tell it again

Remember how my last camping trip was such a success? Well, I’m at it again.

The fiance and I are headed upstate with a group of friends (even better, this time there are cabins!). And as excited as I am to use my bug fan, I’d be lying if I said that was what I was most looking forward to.

They’ve all heard me say this before (check the blog title, yo), but the hardest part about moving to a place like Long Island is that everyone else has lived here their entire lives. That means there’s history, folks, and it runs deep.

I moved around quite a bit when I was younger. Moving to Texas at seven was easy; I was too young to be sad (it was an adventure!), and virtually everyone who lived in my town was a transplant from somewhere else. Meaning, they understood what it was like to be the new kid and were much more open to new people. (Plus, you know, southern hospitality and all that jazz.)

Then we moved to Iowa. I was old enough to be sad (I had big plans for fifth grade!), and virtually everyone else had practically been born in the house they were currently living in. Tightly knit communities of middle schoolers are, unsurprisingly, not that tolerant of the unfamiliar. I spent a lonely couple of days on the playground before I finally made a few friends in choir.

Moving to Long Island hasn’t been that traumatic, but it has been similar. Sure, the fiance liked me all along, and in general everyone was pretty welcoming, but there are definitely disadvantages to not growing up locally.

For one, the stories. Stories of vacations, parties, and crazy hijinx past — all of which I have no part in. It’s not their fault; you’re supposed to reminisce with your old pals.
But nothing makes you feel quite so much like an outsider like hearing the words, “Remember that time…” and not.

Which is why I’m excited to camp. This trip is an annual tradition — the first of its kind I will be a part of. I’m not saying I’m putting a lot of pressure on the trip to be awesome, but if I don’t get at least two anecdotes out of it (you know, the kind they’ll tell over and over for the next five years), I’m probably going to have to start pretending I did. (“OMG guys, remember that time we all woke up and brushed our teeth at the same time Wasn’t that kooky? Guys? …?”)